CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
※ BARSON ※
Nothing was going according to plan. Barson watched incredulously as the beautiful young woman hacked her way through his men, fighting with superhuman strength and skill.
When he had first seen her appear out of thin air with her strange companions, he had known that the rumors were true—that she was a powerful sorceress indeed. Teleporting so many was an achievement that few, if any, members of the Council could match. How had a young woman he’d never heard of before managed such a feat?
For a moment, he’d hesitated, wondering if he was doing the right thing. To destroy something so beautiful would be a shame, yet he’d made a promise to Augusta—and he needed his lover on his side. Coming to a decision, he had ordered his men to attack.
They were already prepared for a different kind of battle; no army had met a sorcerer this way since the time of the Revolution. Of course, back then, nobody had developed the strategy he was about to test.
Instead of clustering together, he had his soldiers separate into small groups to minimize the chances of any one particular spell working on them all. He would never forget how easily Augusta had decimated the peasants’ army, and he had no intention of letting his men meet the same fate. Unlike those poor souls, his army had protection from elemental spells and detailed instructions on how to handle unusual movements of the earth. Thus, when the girl had unleashed the most powerful fire spell he had ever seen, they had been spared.
What he had not counted on was encountering a master swordsman. Because that’s what the girl had to be, despite her delicate appearance. She fought like a man possessed, like a demon of old fairy tales, with a skill and agility that possibly superseded his own—a skill that increased with every moment that passed. How was she learning so fast? What was she? There was a kind of calculated precision to her graceful movements that seemed almost . . . inhuman.
He noticed only one weakness. She seemed to get distracted when the lions and the old women were in danger. And as distasteful as it was, Barson knew what he had to do.
Giving the order to set the beasts on fire, he moved forward decisively with his best men.
She met them without even a hint of fear. Within moments, Barson and his men were fighting for their lives. The girl was working two swords in her hands, thrusting at any hint of an opening, parrying every blow that came her way. The worst thing of all, however, was that she was adapting with every strike, getting faster and more efficient as the fight went on. If he hadn’t been in mortal danger, Barson would have given anything to study her technique—because at this point, she was perfection itself, a virtuoso with a blade, her every move imbued with deadly purpose.
The first blood in this frantic confrontation came from a strike at Kiam’s shoulder. A minute later, Larn was bleeding from his thigh. Furious, Barson put all his strength into a last desperate assault—and then he smelled the acrid odor of burning lion fur.
The girl shuddered, her concentration broken, and Barson finally saw an opening in her defense. One quick lunge, and his sword sliced open her belly, leaving behind a deep, gushing wound.
She screamed, dropping her weapons and clutching at her stomach.
Barson and his men moved in for the kill.